The Dissolution of the Soviet Union
by TK Catsby
Summary: Prussia and Russia's final showdown... A oneshot sort of about the end of the Cold War. Can be taken as pRussia if you want.


**Finally got back to watching some Hetalia. Also finally got back to writing... **

**This is supposed to be about the end of the Cold War and the fall of Berlin wall and whatnot... sort of... Doesn't have anything to do with history...  
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**I don't own Hetalia - Axis Powers.  
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**A crimson stain was spreading in the snow at Ivan's feet, and yet, somehow, the nation barely even seemed to notice glaring wound in his side. Crazed, violet eyes flashed in the morning light; a wicked smile curved the corners of his mouth. The Soviet Union was truly the image of war. Pure, uncontrolled violence. "Tell me, Gilbert-kun," he murmured, voice soft, stained pipe hanging loosely from one hand. "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

A few feet away, one red eye shut against a stream of blood, Gilbert spat into the snow. He raised one hand and absently attempted to clear his vision _again, _all the while fixing the other country with a narrow, deadly glare. In truth, he was already despairing. _How can he still be standing? _Choosing to ignore Ivan's question, he raised his rapier once again and took a battle stance.

For a moment, Ivan just stood there, that insane smile still on his face. Then, he let out a single, sharp laugh. "You never cease to amaze me, Gilbert-kun!" he said, "You're insolence—" He raised the pipe again; blood poured down his side as the wound was stretched. "—never ceases to amaze me!" He charged then, lead pipe gleaming sickly in the early-morning light before coming down towards the Prussian's skull. Gilbert danced out of the way, teetering slightly, and countered with a slash of his rapier.

A scarlet line opened across Ivan's back. He didn't even flinch. Gilbert didn't see the next strike coming, unused to the other nation's unnatural indifference to pain. Pain blossomed across his chest as the faucet collided painfully with his collar bone, sending him staggering back. He coughed once, trying to keep a hold on his sword, when the Soviet roughly grabbed his hair with one hand and his wrist with the other.

Ivan pulled on his blood-stained platinum hair, forcing Gilbert to look at him. "And here we are again!" He laughed in the other's face. "Just give up already! You know you can't beat me!" One gloved hand tightened around Gilbert's wrist; glowing eyes widened, awaiting a response.

The Prussian's good eye narrowed. His vision was slipping in and out of focus, and he was almost certain that his left collar had been shattered with the latest blow. The pain was crippling, threatening to send him over the edge…

"_Fight it, Gilbert."_

… _Like I would lose…_

With a cry, Gilbert reached up and slammed his forehead into his enemy's with as much force as he could muster. There was an audible _crack _and the two separated, both stumbling back, dazed. Gilbert blinked rapidly, his hand, still holding his sword, raised to his eyes. Dimly, he heard Ivan scream—a guttural screech of pure madness—and knew that the Soviet was charging him again, half-blind with rage. Hardly registering his own body's movements, he raised his rapier again and braced it against his hip…

… Just as Ivan struck him full-force. They both fell to the ground, Ivan landing roughly on top of Gilbert in a tangle of limbs. Gilbert cried out, feeling the pipe collide sharply with his ribs, blinking as he saw the glittering tip of his sword protruding from the other's back…

Then, they were still.

It took Gilbert a moment to comprehend that Ivan wasn't moving. He could feel the nation's hot breaths against his injured collar-bone, short and erratic, and suddenly had an overwhelming urge to run—get as far away as possible.

"_Why run, Gilbert? He's dying…"_

With an effort, he managed to push the Soviet off of him, cradling his left arm to his chest and using his right to roll Ivan over onto his side. Once free, he reflexively scrambled a few feet back, the snow was seeping through his clothes, chilling him to the bone. He shivered.

Ivan's eyes were half-open. He fixed Gilbert with a glassy gaze, one hand weakly gripping the hilt protruding from his stomach. His pipe was lying just out of his reach.

The smile was gone.

Gilbert stared, scarlet eyes wide, his mind flooding with unidentifiable thoughts and emotions. An overwhelming sense of relief was settling over him like a blanket in the icy landscape.

"Hey, Gilbert-kun?"

He flinched at the Soviet's voice. It still sounded the same.

"I knew you'd win."

Gilbert froze. _What?_

"After all, you're the awesome Prussia, da?"

_I'm… You're…_

"And me… I'm just this barren, icy wasteland… That's all… da?"

Gilbert watched, paralyzed, as the older nation's eyes slipped shut.

Then, after an eternity of silence, he answered;

"Of course... that's not all…"

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**There you have it. I kind of like these two together as mortal enemies that might actually kind of like each other... that made no sense... Russia is abusive... I actually wanted to imply the childish side of Russia. **

**Oh, and I also dislike putting "da" at the end of all his sentences, so here it's just where I was gonna' put "right".  
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**Reviews appreciated!  
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